


devil's in the details (but you got a friend in me)

by solitarydreaming



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Humor, I don't know what this is and at this point I'm too afraid to ask, M/M, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitarydreaming/pseuds/solitarydreaming
Summary: Adam gets more than he bargained for at the latest Gansey get-together.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 29
Kudos: 193





	devil's in the details (but you got a friend in me)

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a short tumblr prompt, but then I started writing and this happened...oops?

“When you said ‘little family get-together…’”

“Helen’s never been one for moderation, you know how she gets. Ever since that Royal Wedding—”

“Royal Wedding?”

“She helped plan it. I told you about that.”

“I think I’d remember if you did.”

“Well, regardless, it wasn’t that big a deal. Helen’s no real connection to the Royals. She only knows the Duchess through her acting career.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t worry, she won’t be here tonight. I wouldn’t spring _that_ on you.”

“Gansey, this is a boat.”

Not just any boat — one of those fancy yachts that probably costs millions to rent out, never mind own, which means Gansey’s family definitelydoes own it and at least half a dozen more where that came from. There’s gleaming white exterior and multiple tiers and a deck that’s bigger than every measly dorm and apartment Adam’s lived in put together, a deck complete with its own bar and cushy leather seating and an honest to god pool.

Why does anyone on a yacht need a pool when the ocean is right there? Why does anyone need a yacht, period?

Because they’re rich enough to afford it. Why else?

Gansey, having finally picked up on Adam’s internal meltdown, has the decency to at least look rueful.

“Christ, I should’ve asked,” he says. “Do you get seasick at all?”

“I…”

“It should be fine, I think. We won’t be travelling very fast.”

“Seasickness is the least of my worries,” Adam says. “You told me this was a family get-together.”

“It is a family get-together.”

“On a _boat_.”

“Yes. I may have left some of the finer details to the imagination.”

Adam sucks in a deep breath. He can’t kill Gansey; there’s too many witnesses around, and he never factored prison time into his twenty-year plan. “If you think I won’t hitchhike my way back to Boston—”

“And that was a clear misjudgment on my part,” Gansey says in a rush. “Parrish! Wait! It’s really not as bad as it looks.”

“The only reason you brought me with you is because it’s worse than it looks and you’re too scared to face it on your own.” It’s only an assumption, but judging from the complete silence on Gansey’s end, Adam’s hit the bull’s eye. Brilliant. Sometimes — not often, but _sometimes_ — Adam hates being right.

“If I told you where we were going beforehand, you never would’ve come,” Gansey says, and Adam frowns at that. Granted, he doesn’t care for giant yacht parties or decadence or blue blooded assholes whose only contribution to society is nepotism, but also, he went to Harvard, where all those things reign supreme. Not to mention, he _does_ care about Gansey (at least when he’s not pulling a Gansey). Adam’s not so self-centered that he would condemn his best friend to a night of facing his morally dubious family and various other wealthy extras with zero backup.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Adam says, and Gansey’s mouth twists in a barely there smile. “All I’m saying is, I could’ve used some warning. We’re going on a boat and I’m wearing oxfords.”

“What’s your shoe size? I have a spare set of sperrys on deck, if you’d like.”

On second thought, maybe Gansey deserves to suffer through this horror show alone.

-

Adam’s no stranger to Gansey parties. He’s been friends with Gansey since their junior year of high school, and being friends with Gansey requires absolute loyalty, and absolute loyalty means occasionally braving the trenches that are the Gansey family get-togethers.

(He’s been to so many of these, in fact, that Helen has concluded him and Gansey are secret lovers, and nothing short of Gansey running off to elope with a woman he’s known for two hours will set her mind at ease.

“Would it help if I brought my boyfriend to lunch?” Adam asked one time, on a rare short-lived occasion when he actually had a boyfriend to speak of.

“If anything,” Gansey said, “that’ll encourage her.”)

The thing is, this isn’t just a Gansey party — it’s a Helen Gansey party, cause of celebration the Fourth of July, and apparently that’s its own special concept.

There are twice as many people, for starters, and they skew far younger than the crowd Adam’s been expecting. Gone are the wrinkling senators and donors and dynasty heirs; in their place are friends of Helen’s, a broadly defined group where the only common denominator is excess wealth. There are socialites and senator’s kids, Yale grads and D-list celebrities that Adam would never recognize if Gansey weren’t here to supply names and backstories for them.

Socializing doesn’t come naturally to Adam, but mirroring does. He knows how to read a room and fit himself into it accordingly, when to listen, when to laugh, how much polite deference to display. He could make the effort here if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to. There’s nothing to be gained. These aren’t his kind of people — too loud, too self-important — and frankly, he hates the look of every last one of them.

Well, almost every last one of them.

“Who’s the man in the black button down?” he asks as Gansey’s latest conversation partner — Charles Hawthorne the III, Yale class of 2014, junior associate at Hawthorne and Whittley LLP — finally leaves.

“What man?”

“Far left, at the bar. The one with the shaved head.”

Gansey squints in the general direction of the bar, but his face shows no sign of recognition.

“He must be another friend of Helen’s,” Gansey says. “Why, what’s the matter?”

“He’s been checking you out since we got here.”

“Well, I don’t see him looking anymore. Do you think he’s shy?”

Adam scoffs. There is no way a man who looks like that is shy.

“Dick Gansey, my man!” someone calls out from behind them, ending the moment. Gansey turns around with his beaming presidential smile in place; Adam steels himself, fixing his face into a look of careful neutrality rather than flat out boredom, before following suit.

But the sensation of being watched never leaves him. Adam feels those eyes hot on the back of his neck, trailing them all the way around the deck from one dull conversation to another. It isn’t just the man in black, either; he feels the itch to turn around even when he’s got their admirer right in his line of sight.

It’s not unusual to get stared at when he’s around Gansey — Gansey has a way of sucking people into his orbit, his gravitational pull immense — but this feels different, more intentional. Like they’re under surveillance, the walls closing in around them.

Could be nothing. Childhood trauma has a way of leaving one paranoid, and Adam’s got it in spades.

But it feels like _something,_ and Adam isn’t one to ignore his instincts.

He waits until Gansey’s attention is snagged by another of Helen’s friends before wandering off in the direction of the bar. A little distance will do him some good, give him the opportunity to scope out the ship and put his wandering worries to rest.

He takes a seat on one of the empty stools, orders a neat scotch, and gives the deck a subtle look around. Nothing stands out, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to see here; it’s getting too dark to see much of anything. Helen will want to start the fireworks show soon.

Adam takes a careful sip of his drink. Probably, he just needs to relax. That’s what Gansey would say.

Someone takes the empty stool beside him. Adam chances a look up and finds, unsurprisingly, the mystery man in black.

He looks even better up close, broad shoulders and lean biceps carefully concealed beneath his shirt. _So he’s someone that works out_. His face is all sharp angles, chiselled jawline and crooked Roman nose and a fading scar cutting between one of his brows. _So he’s someone that’s either accident prone or fond of violence._

Or has a grim history like Adam’s own.

“Gin and tonic, thanks,” he says to the bartender in a low voice that’s definitely American but shows no traces of a regional accent.

 _So he’s someone with something to hide_.

Adam shakes the thought away. He’s reading too much into things. So what if the guy had his eyes on Gansey? Gansey is objectively attractive, deserving of attention, even if he’s more invested in dead Welsh kings than he is in dating. Anyone would be smart to look at Gansey and see someone worthy.

The way he’s sneaking looks at Adam right now, though… Well. Maybe he’s not picky.

Or maybe it was never Gansey he’d been staring at in the first place.

“Friend of Helen’s?” Adam asks, before the opportunity can pass him by.

He stares at Adam head on, and Adam can feel himself being sized up in return.

“Something like that,” he grumbles.

“Careful there. Your enthusiasm’s bordering on obscene.”

“Fuck you, man. Maybe I’m here for the show.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as the patriotic type.”

“What type do I strike you as, then?”

Adam gives him an assessing look, as though he hasn’t already drawn several conclusions since the minute he sat down.

“You got dragged here against your will, hence why you’re drinking alone,” Adam says, and the man’s brows lift considerably. “You think holidays like the Fourth of July are consumerist scams, and anyone that celebrates them is a mindless sheep.”

“Well now you’re just fucking projecting.”

“You dressed all in black to a yacht party. Don’t tell me you don’t get a kick out of being the contrarian.”

The man’s lips twitch in a barely-there smile. Adam’s stomach swoops.

“All right, you caught me,” he says. “I think Fourth of July is a bunch of cracked-up bullshit.”

“So you’re not a friend of Helen’s, then.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Ganseys love the status quo.”

“What’re you doing here, then?”

Adam shrugs. “I love America and generational wealth.”

The barely-there smile becomes a full-on grin, and the sight of it makes an embarrassing mess of Adam’s heartbeat, even while his mind flags the warning signs. Where did he come from if he’s not a friend of Helen’s? Why does it matter? Adam’s no friend of Helen’s, either. He could be someone’s plus one, or a casual acquaintance making the most of the free booze. It’s not that sketchy. Adam wants to believe it’s not that sketchy.

“I’m Adam, by the way. Adam Parrish.”

The man tips his head in recognition and says, “Ronan.”

“No surname?”

“You want my social security number too?”

 _Not that sketchy_. Everybody here is a somebody, and somebodys have more reason than most to hold tight to their privacy. If Adam doesn’t recognize him, well, why wouldn’t Ronan make the most of the opportunity that presents him? Adam understands the need for a clean slate better than anyone.

But if Ronan were a somebody, Gansey would’ve known his face.

“Ronan,” Adam says, enjoying the way it feels on his tongue. “What do you do? When you’re not too busy avoiding straight questions, that is.”

“What makes you think I’d tell you?”

Okay, he walked into that one. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? You got something to lose?”

Ronan’s gaze turns thoughtful. He says, after a considering silence, “Contractual work, mostly. Little of this, little of that.”

“Cryptic.”

“That’s for your sake, trust me. If I told you the details, you’d be bored as shit.” He takes a drink, eyes drifting to the party behind them, then asks, “What about you?”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”

“Fuck you. I didn’t think full-time smart-ass was a career.”

“I’m a mechanical engineer,” Adam supplies, before he can second-guess himself. “For a car start-up in Boston. We’re working on developing commercial hybrids.”

Ronan lets out a low whistle, and Adam rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing special. You’re on a ship full of politicians and Yale grads, look around if you want something to fawn at.”

It’s special to Adam, though, a hard-won achievement. Years of pushing himself through private school while balancing three jobs, then Harvard, then grad school at MIT, heart heavy with the knowledge that he’d forever be pushing himself to his limit, unlike his wealthy classmates who could always afford to slack off, or take a year or two out.

He’d had no social life outside of Gansey and their other friend Henry, no dating life period. And now he’s freshly twenty-five and right where he wants to be, or halfway there at least, and still his instinct is to work, work, work. He’s here on a goddamn yacht, and _still_ his instinct is to look for problems where they don’t exist, turning everything into a grand conspiracy, because what’s the alternative? To relax?

Just this once, Adam wants a break from his own head.

One look from Ronan, and he wonders if it’s possible that he can be someone other than himself tonight. Someone who lives for right now. Maybe that’s what Ronan’s playing at, too.

“Trust me, these self-important assholes are nothing special,” Ronan says, his voice luring Adam back to the present moment.

“Are you speaking from experience, or…”

“Jesus. You don’t know how to let things go, do you?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to buy into your mystery-man act and work hard to figure you out?”

“The hell gave you that idea?”

“You’ve spent the whole night staring at me. You weren’t exactly subtle.”

Ronan’s eyes widen. Apparently he _did_ think he was being subtle, which is absurd. He’d make a terrible spy if that’s his idea of undercover surveillance.

“Well, fuck. Maybe I saw something I liked,” he says, and Adam nearly drops his glass. “What’s your excuse?”

“My excuse?”

“You ditched your friend to come over to the bar for a drink you’ve barely touched. Is that subtlety to you?”

Ronan takes a drink of his own gin, holding Adam’s gaze from above the rim of the glass. Adam looks back, nerves alight, heat curled low in his stomach. There’s a voice at the back of his head telling him to slow down, back up, assess, but the longer Ronan stares the more inclined Adam becomes to ignore it. Ronan’s attention is thrilling, and Adam wants those eyes on him for as he can have them. Adam _wants_ —

“Parrish, thank god. I thought you’d flung yourself off the edge of the deck.”

Adam holds back a sigh. He turns to face the woman behind him.

“Helen,” he says, and offers up a smile. Helen doesn’t return it. She’s wearing a linen white jumpsuit and shades, the yin to Ronan’s yang, but everything about the tight line of her mouth says _readying to commit demonic murder._ One thing you can’t fault her for — she doesn’t do passive aggression. “Thanks for inviting—”

“Oh, enough of that,” she says dismissively. “Have you seen where Dick got to? Everyone’s waiting to be entertained with one of his little Henrietta tales, and the bastard’s disappeared on me.”

Adam frowns. He wants to rail against the idea of Helen and the Gansey seniors treating Gansey like some cute party trick, to be brought out for performances and then tidied away again in his box, eccentricities explained away with a smile. But then his mind latches onto _disappeared on me_ and his face pales. He turns back towards where he’d last left Gansey, but it’s too dark to make out much beyond a blur of faces.

“Right when I need him, too. His timing is impeccable, as always.”

“Have you checked inside?” he asks.

“Do you know how many rooms are on this yacht?”

More than anyone needs, Adam’s assuming.

“I’ll do it,” he says.

“Good answer.” Helen smiles, all condescension. “You better be quick, though. The fireworks are about to start.”

He watches Helen hurry off like there aren’t enough hours in the day for her to fix what needs fixing, and then turns back to the bar. “I gotta go. I’ll see you—” But Adam’s talking to thin air. Ronan’s long gone.

-

Adam tries calling Gansey, but there’s no reception. He sends a message, but it bounces right back to his inbox.

Damn it. Gansey can’t have gone far. If he went inside, it must’ve been for a breather. He wouldn’t ditch the party guests, no matter how much he secretly wanted to. Ganseys don’t walk away from their obligations.

Adam does a thorough search of the deck, just in case Helen’s walked right by him. She’s right, though: Gansey is definitely not here, and that knowledge doesn’t sit right with Adam. He feels dread creeping in, his worries from before spiking. Those eyes he’d felt watching them, the sensation of being followed. It could be a coincidence, but Adam’s never quite believed in those. _Coincidence_ is what you call it when you’re too afraid to acknowledge a pattern.

There’s no use jumping the gun and scaring everyone, though, not when he’s lacking the facts to support his instincts. If Gansey’s here, and he’s _got_ to be here, then Adam’s going to find him.

He tracks down the last person he saw Gansey with, one of Helen’s socialite friends, and asks if she knows where he went.

The woman — Madeline Beale, “model and philanthropist” — laughs and says, “Oh, I think little Richard’s getting lucky tonight, if you know what I mean.”

Gansey, blowing off his obligations for a hook-up? Likely story.

Adam heads inside, into the living area. There are a handful of guests dotted around, lounging on the couches, huddled together in the kitchenette, drinking by the windows. No Gansey, though. No Gansey-and-company, either.

Upstairs or downstairs? Upstairs is open-plan, perfect for watching the fireworks. But downstairs is bigger, with plenty more space to hide.

Downstairs it is.

Adam takes the first set of stairs he finds and prays they’re the right ones. The music and partying from the deck fall further and further away with each step, until the only sounds left are Adam’s footsteps and the creak of the yacht. It’s fine. If Gansey’s really with someone, then this is exactly where they’d go, somewhere quiet and private and away from prying eyes.

Adam reaches the bottom step. The corridor stretches out before him, narrow and dimly-lit, with a door on each side. He tries them both; both are empty.

He reaches the end of the hallway, where it forks off seemingly endlessly in both directions. Left or right? He could call Gansey’s name, see where the reply comes from…if he gets one.

No. Too risky. Adam turns left on a whim and treads cautiously towards the next cabin door. It’s only a few meters away, but he hesitates. He’s defenceless here, easy prey. He should’ve grabbed something, a heavy or blunt object, while he was upstairs.

But that’s absurd. He’s being absurd. Gansey’s hiding in one of these rooms with a woman he met on the deck, free of all concern, and meanwhile Adam’s just being—

Then he hears it. Footsteps, padding towards him. Gaining speed.

He spins around, braced for attack.

“Jesus, Parrish, it’s me.”

 _Ronan._ He’s holding a cell phone in one hand, and the other is held out in front of him, warding Adam off. All the warning bells in Adam’s brain start chiming one by one.

“What are you doing down here?” he asks, careful to keep the edge out his voice.

Ronan nods at the phone in his hand. “My battery died. I’m looking for a safe place to charge it.”

Well, that’s an obvious lie if Adam’s ever heard one. There’s no way he’s lurking around down here for such purely innocuous reasons.

Adam tries to calm his racing heart, but it’s no use. He doesn’t _know_ Ronan, no matter how much he wants to. There’s no telling what Ronan’s capable of. In fact, he’s spent the whole night evading Adam’s questions, giving Adam no reason to trust him, and he might be handsome but Adam’s no fool.

“What are _you_ doing down here?” Ronan asks.

Adam’s panicked mind scrambles for a defense. He’s backed into a corner, so he needs to stay calm. Defuse. Tell him what he wants to hear, placate him.

“Needed a breather,” Adam says, and offers up a casual smile. “It was getting too loud up there.”

“You’re gonna miss the show.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been told the Fourth of July is cracked-up bullshit.”

Ronan doesn’t smile back. Now that Adam’s looking closely, he sees that Ronan’s tense all over, face marred by worry lines. What does he have to be worried about? And what does that mean for Adam?

“Feeling all right?” Adam backtracks ever so slightly. If he make it a few more meters, if he can reach the next door…

“You should go,” Ronan says.

“Only if you’ll buy me a drink,” Adam counters.

“You barely touched that scotch. I don’t think you’re the drinking type, Parrish.”

“What am I, then?”

Ronan shakes his head. He smiles thinly. “A pain in the goddamn ass.”

He’s moved closer, close enough now that Adam can see the way his throat’s bobbing, can feel his breath after each exhale. But Adam doesn’t know him. He can’t trust this. He needs to move—

A boom goes off up above them, startling Adam as it echoes down the corridors. Adam staggers back against the wall, Ronan stumbling along with him. It’s nothing to worry about, just the fireworks, but his traitorous body wants to duck for cover, cower, defend. He shuts his eyes, centering himself, keenly away of Ronan’s breath against his skin. They’re chest to chest now, Ronan’s hand stretched out on the wall by Adam’s head, but Adam can’t give into impulse. This isn’t worth the risk. He needs to find Gansey, quick.

“Listen,” Ronan says, and there’s an urgency to his voice that wasn’t there before. “You need to get the fuck out of here.”

“I—”

“Don’t question it. Just trust me, okay?”

“Trust you?” Adam gives him a withering look. “I don’t know you.”

The lights flicker off, then on, then off again permanently. Adam sucks in a rapid breath. Just a coincidence, except there’s no such thing as coincidence, and Adam’s paranoia might be for good reason after all.

“ _Shit,”_ Ronan says under his breath.

Adam wants to ask, but then he spots the shadows advancing round the bend in the corridor. No, not shadows — _men_. Two men, heavyset, black-clad and blending neatly into the dark.

Ronan spins around and knocks his elbow against the closest man’s chest. He stumbles back, winded, and the other one steps in and throws a punch.

Adam backs away as far as he can. He needs to run, he needs to get the hell upstairs, but they’re blocking the exit and Gansey’s still down here somewhere. Oh, god, _Gansey._ What have they done with Gansey?

He watches Ronan block their attacks with expert precision, fists swinging, muscles strained. This must be what he came here for, but what is this? Who are they? Who is _Ronan_?

“Parrish, _move_!” Ronan shouts, and Adam sprints to the left.

Gansey’s in one of these rooms. Adam knows it. It’s just a matter of locating the right one, trial and error. Adam swings the first door open but it’s another empty cabin, too small to be Gansey’s room. He looks around for something, _anything_ he can use for defense. There’s a double-bed in the center, flanked by nightstands on each side. A lamp. Travel magazines. A framed Monet on the wall. Nothing of note—

Adam’s legs are kicked out from beneath him. He hits the ground with a pained gasp. Tries to crawl, but hands grab hold of him, shoving him onto his back. His head slams against the floor and colours erupt behind his eyes in a dizzying haze. He’s breathless, disoriented, shocked still.

Gloved hands wrap around his throat and squeeze.

 _No_. He’s not dying here floors deep on Helen Gansey’s ostentatious yacht, fireworks masking the sounds of his last breaths. He didn’t claw his way up from the dirt just to be taken out right when he’s finally where he wants to be, before he’s even had the chance to start enjoying it.

Adrenaline spikes through him like a shot to the heart. Adam knocks his elbow up against his attacker’s face, hitting him square on the nose. The pressure around his throat loosens.

Adam sees his shot and doesn’t hesitate; he grabs the lamp on the nightstand, rips it from its socket and swings with all his force.

The man’s body drops limply to the floor. Legs free, Adam scurries to his feet. He doesn’t look to see how much damage he’s caused, just runs. Out the door, into the corridor, body moving forward due to muscle memory alone.

He crashes against solid muscle and raises his arm, ready to swing, but then hands settle on his shoulders and a familiar voice says, “Parrish.”

Adam lowers the makeshift weapon, but he doesn’t let it go. “What the fuck is this?”

“Ask me again when we’re outta here.”

“Someone just tried to strangle me. I’m asking now.”

Ronan shakes his head. He leans in and says, “Your friend’s in the room at the end of this corridor.”

“You kidnapped—”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I’m not a goddamn hitman.”

Adam wants to ask, _what are you, then?_ but Ronan’s right, it’s not the time. Their attackers might be incapacitated, but there’s no telling how long that’ll last, or if there’s more of them on their way.

Shit. He was almost strangled. He might’ve killed, or at the very least maimed, another man, and he doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about it. This whole night is a fever dream.

 _Gansey. Focus on Gansey_ , Adam tells himself. He heads to the room at the end of the corridor, Ronan in tow.

The door swings open before they can reach it. A scowling woman in a black jumpsuit steps outside, her eyes widening when they land on Adam. She turns to Ronan and says, “You had one job and you screwed it up.”

“I didn’t screw up shit. He followed me down here.”

“I didn’t follow you,” Adam says. “I made an educated guess about where my friend might be, and there you were.”

“Adam?”

Adam brushes past both Ronan and the newcomer, ignoring their protests, and finds Gansey in one piece inside the cabin. He’s sitting on the bed with a book — his Glendower journal — on his lap, and he looks completely baffled, but otherwise safe and sound. Relief shoots through Adam instantaneously. He sighs, shoulders sagging.

“What happened to you?” he asks.

“I was with Jane,” Gansey says, nodding towards the woman who’s currently engaged in a shitting match with Ronan. “We got carried away talking. She’s a supernatural enthusiast from Henrietta — She knows all about the ley lines. Can you believe it? And she was here, of all places!”

Adam can believe it, but he knows fine well it’s not some miraculous coincidence. His brows furrow. So this mess they’re in is connected to Gansey’s quest, never mind that it went nowhere and technically ended years ago. ‘Technically’ because Gansey never gave up, not truly. He’s spent years travelling, testing, theorizing. He wrote his undergrad thesis on Glendower and the myths surrounding him, myths that he wholeheartedly believes in himself. It’s his obsession in life, his great purpose, to find the dead Welsh king, and no one besides Adam and Henry and Gansey’s decrepit old British friend Mallory are willing to entertain it.

Apparently they’re not as alone as they thought they were.

“We should get out of here,” Adam says. He turns towards the bickering pair, still unsure if he can trust them. But they’ve had Gansey under their wing all this time and they haven’t laid a finger on him. Ronan could’ve knocked Adam out cold in the corridor, but he didn’t; he’d fought their foes off and urged Adam to escape.

Adam owes him one now; he can at least stick around to hear him out.

“Ronan?”

“You told him _your name_?” the woman shouts.

“Priorities, Sargent!”

“And now you’ve told him my name. Great job, asshole. Superspy of the year award coming your way. Why don’t you tell him your whole tragic backstory while you’re at it?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Adam says. “How can you be a spy? You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

Ronan glowers. “Not telling you what you wanna hear doesn’t make me a liar.”

“It does, actually. It’s called lying by omission, and you suck at it.”

“And you’re a judgemental smart-ass with the emotional capacity of a brick. We’ve all got our crosses to bear, Parrish.”

“Oh my god, we don’t have time for your messed up foreplay,” Sargent says. “You were supposed to distract him—”

 _Distract him._ Right. Because Ronan’s a spy. They’re here to help Gansey, or at least keep him safe until he tells them what they need to know. This is all just a job, and keeping the best friend busy is another part of that.

Adam thought he was figuring Ronan out, when really he was being played.

“Christ,” Gansey says suddenly. “Is that _blood_ on your shirt?”

Adam glances down at his shirt. He shrugs.

Gansey blinks several times in rapid succession, the mess they’re in finally dawning on him. He looks at Adam, then Ronan, then Sargent/Jane.

“I have some questions, naturally,” he says, with an air of calm authority.

-

At least Ronan and Sargent prepared for a quick getaway.

Adam crosses his arms against his chest, warding himself from the cool sea breeze. They’re on a speedboat heading back towards the mainland, him and Gansey and their three unknown defenders. The other man hasn’t said much; he’d pulled up to the back of the yacht minutes after their group made it onto the deck, ushering them all onboard. Adam went without protest, because he wasn’t about to leave Gansey alone.

Now Ronan and Sargent are in the midst of providing their long-awaited explanation and it’s enlightening, even if it offers more questions and provides few solutions.

The upshot: Gansey is a wanted man. There are dangerous people out there — the likes of which Adam’s already encountered and now has the bruises to show for it — that want to control the power of the ley lines, and they think Gansey’s research is their means to an end.

“You can’t go home,” Ronan tells him. “They’re waiting for you there.”

“Their original plan was to transport you off the boat in the middle of the fireworks show,” Sargent adds. “But they made sure to cover their bases.”

“What about my family?”

“We’ve got eyes on your parents’ house. They’ll be safe there, so long as you’re not with them.”

Gansey nods along like this makes perfect sense and is simply a minor bump in the road. Adam decides to speak up for him, since he’s refusing to do it himself: “If this organization’s so powerful then why did they only send two men onto the yacht?”

“Because they weren’t expecting us to be here,” Ronan says. “They figured this was a quick gig, in and out, easy as shit.”

“Right, and we should just take your word—”

“They’re right,” Gansey says, and Adam turns to him with a look of betrayal. “Come on, Parrish. Think about it. You would’ve noticed a group of armed men swarming the boat. These are trained professionals, I’m assuming, am I right?” Both Ronan and Sargent nod. “See, there it is. They know how to be discreet.”

He’s got a point, but that doesn’t mean Adam has to be happy about it. Not when the direction this conversation’s heading in is distinctly obvious.

And, sure enough, Adam’s fears are proven right minutes later, when Ronan and Sargent propose their grand plan for protecting Gansey’s life.

“It won’t be permanent.”

“Just until we root these fuckers out.”

“It’s the best way for us to guarantee your safety and the safety of everyone you love.”

“Okay,” Gansey says slowly, still infuriatingly calm. “Well, I don’t suppose I have much choice, do I?”

“Ugh. We’re not gonna _force_ you,” Sargent snaps. “We’re not kidnappers.”

“Oh, no, you mistake me. That’s not what I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Adam says.

Sargent turns on him, rage in her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve spent the whole night manipulating Gansey into handing over all his research, for you to do who knows what with! Don’t act like he owes you anything more.”

“Oh, you do not get to talk to me like that. Not when I’m the only reason you’re even—”

“Jesus,” Ronan groans. “Knock it off, shitheads.”

“My mom’s a psychic from Henrietta,” Sargent says, firing ahead. “The only reason Ronan knew enough to come save your ungrateful ass is because we recognized the ley line was in danger.”

“I thought you were spies,” Adam says.

“I’m a field ecologist. I work with ecosystems. Plants! I don’t know what _he_ does.” She directs a dark look at Ronan, who shrugs.

“They tracked us down, not the other way about,” Ronan explains.

“Who’s ‘us?’ The people you work for?”

“You don’t need to know about that.”

“Do I get a say in any of this?” Gansey cuts in, and everyone turns towards him. “Because, if so, I vote for the safe house. I think it’s the smartest option right now, while we assess the situation.”

Adam can’t argue with that. This is all about Gansey’s safety, after all. If this is what Gansey thinks is best for him, well, Adam will support that. He trusts Gansey to make his own decisions, even if he personally has his doubts.

He keeps his mouth shut the rest of the way to the mainland, where they’re ushered off the boat, along the coast and into a dark sedan. Here, too, he says nothing, feigning tiredness with his head turned towards the window, listening intently as Ronan and Sargent answer more of Gansey’s questions. If he feels eyes lingering on the side of his neck the whole car ride, well, that’s not his problem. He’s spent enough time tonight responding to hidden glances, and look where that got him.

They pull in two hours later at a middle-of-nowhere motel and pay for two separate twin rooms, side by side. Sargent and her unnamed associate direct Gansey towards one, with the explanation that it’s safer for the ‘civilians’ to sleep under guard. Ronan and Adam take the other one.

Adam shucks his shoes off and heads straight for the bed on the left without comment. The adrenaline’s long worn off by now and in its place is a splitting headache, a tender neck and a fierce desire for this nightmare to be over. He wants to get back to his normal life, back to work. Why did he ever dare to want for something more?

The lamp on Ronan’s side of the room switches on.

“Parrish?”

Adam shuts his eyes and buries them against the pillow.

Footsteps pad across the carpet. He holds himself still, counting seconds in his head. One minute…two…he’ll have given up by now, won’t he?

Adam opens his eyes; Ronan is standing over his bed.

“Thought the point of stopping here was to get some sleep.”

“Your neck’s busted to shit.”

Adam shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”

Ronan turns around and disappears into the bathroom. He reappears moments later with a wet washcloth in hand.

“It’s gonna bruise no matter what, but this’ll help,” he says.

After some consideration, Adam sighs and sits up. He allows Ronan to sit down beside him, allows Ronan to tip his head up and press the cloth against his neck, allows him to hold it there for several minutes. Ronan’s knuckles are bruised, but his hands are nothing but gentle against Adam’s skin, and Adam briefly indulges in the fantasy that Ronan’s nothing more than what he originally appeared to be — a beautiful stranger that wants Adam, no ulterior motives attached.

“Tomorrow,” Adam starts, and then winces slightly when Ronan swipes the cloth against a tender spot. “What’ll your boss do if I don’t go with you?”

“Fuck all, probably.”

“Really?”

“I mean, he’ll be pissy with me for ‘reckless endangerment of civilians’ — he’s gonna be pissed no matter what, you were never supposed to be part of this — but at the end of the day? You’re collateral damage, Parrish. No one’s lives are riding on you staying alive.”

Adam supposes he’s known that all along. He’s not important to this mission. The only reason they’d made him get on the speedboat is because the man he hit with the lamp disappeared on them. Ronan said it’s only a matter of time before he reports his findings to the rest of the team, and they track Adam down.

They need Gansey alive, but Adam? He’s a loose end to be snipped off. He’ll be dead within hours of arriving back in Boston.

“So whoever you work for, they don’t care about protecting people. That’s not the end goal.”

“Depends on the person.” Then, seconds later, “I’m not a killer, Parrish. I do what I can.”

Adam takes that information in and stores it away to be processed later, when he’s not so exhausted. There’s a long list of things he still needs to process.

Ronan moves the washcloth away from Adam’s throat. He sets it down on the bed, but he makes no move to leave yet.

“If you’re thinking about risking it in Boston—”

“I’m not that stupid.”

“Okay. Good.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m happy about any of this,” Adam says. “I’ve worked my ass off for everything I’ve got. I don’t have generational wealth to fall back on when I lose my job, and my lease, and all the rest of it.”

“It’s a fucked up mess of a situation,” Ronan says. “I’m not asking you to be happy about it; I just need you alive.”

“What does it matter to you? I’m collateral damage, you said it yourself.”

“I don’t need another death on my conscience. I got enough shit to say at confession.”

That doesn’t matter, though, or at least it _shouldn’t_ matter. Adam’s no one to Ronan. He’s a thing to distract, a pawn to be played with. If Adam gets hurt on his own watch, well, that’s on him. Ronan didn’t make Adam stick his nose into things, after all.

“Parrish?”

Adam says nothing, just stares blankly ahead at the wall.

“C’mon, Adam, look at me.”

He doesn’t want to anymore. He’s hurt. He’s lost. He’s exhausted. He just wants to curl up and sleep until he’s got enough energy to start planning—

“It matters because youmatter, okay?”

Adam grudgingly turns around.

Ronan’s watching him with that same intensity he’d had at the bar, his eyes saying everything his mouth will not. Adam’s pulse picks up, that familiar heat sweeping in and making a riot of his nerve endings. He’s caught between impulse and sensibility, desire and caution, and he thinks this is what real danger looks like — relinquishing control to a man that’s fooled him once before.

“You don’t know me,” Adam says, scrambling for logic, sense, any weapon he can wield against _want_.

“Then give me the chance,” Ronan says. “I’ll figure you out.”

Adam can’t trust him. It would be foolish to trust him. He’s a spy; lying and manipulating is what they do.

But Ronan’s a godawful liar. His face gives him away each time.

He nods, thoroughly undone, and then Ronan’s leaning closer, kissing him, and Adam lets go. He lets go of everything, all his questions, his worries, his control, and allows himself to be swept away in the fast approaching tide.

He does trust Ronan, is the thing, and maybe that makes him a real fool, but Adam’s never been one to ignore his instincts. They’ve never failed him before.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [ punchupatawedding ](http://punchupatawedding.tumblr.com) if you wanna say hi! <3


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